


Learlocks

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Luna share a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learlocks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this. 
> 
> Congrats Ravenclaw! We won the cup at [Hogwarts is Home on LJ](http://hogwartsishome.livejournal.com/). So I'm writing my fellow claws Drabbles. This is for [schizophrenic0](http://schizophrenic0.livejournal.com/).

She’s already in the classroom when he gets there, staring dreamily up at the ceiling. Dean doesn’t ask what creatures she’s looking for, because chances are the name won’t mean anything to him. 

But it might mean something to her. So he sits politely down next to her on the sofa and pretends to be as interested in the stone bricks above them as she is. He’s closed the door behind him. The light through the far window’s pale, and Dean isn’t sure when this classroom was last used, but it’s probably been months, at least. The sofa they’re on is worn and dilapidated, and they’ve both sunk down into it. She feels so small next to him, or maybe he’s just grown too tall.

They’ve been staring for about five minutes when Luna sighs, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” She’s still looking up.

Dean has to suppress his chuckle. Half the fun of dating Luna is just the sheer amusement. He reaches for her chin and cups it gently, dark thumb brushing over her pink lips. She smiles softly, and she lets him turn her head, gently drawing them together. Her mouth is open before his, but his tongue is the one that takes over. His fingers slide to her sunshine hair, threading through it and holding her in place, and his other hand slips to her knee, trailing up and bunching together her skirt. He loops his arm around her waist, turning her towards him and pulling her in. Before he knows it, she’s climbing into his lap, one knee on either side of him. This way they’re the same height. Her mouth tastes like honey. 

He wanted to take her out for dinner. She wanted to come here. Dean knows how to make a relationship work, so he came here. He holds onto her tightly and shifts down the sofa, so he has room to lay her down on it. She holds onto his broad shoulders while they go, hair fanning out around her head like a halo. He settles atop her on all fours like an animal. His tie falls onto and drapes down her breasts. 

She whispers, spacey and pretty, “Are we going to do it this time?” Her lips are barely a centimeter from his.

He’s trying not to smirk. It’d be so easy. The quiet ones are always the freaks. Why everyone goes to Slytherin for a good time, Dean has no idea—Ravenclaw girls are where it’s at. 

Luna doesn’t seem discouraged when she doesn’t get an answer. Dean doesn’t say anything because he can’t trust himself. She leans up and kisses him again, playing with his short hair. The way her long nails scratch at his skull gets his blood going. As if he needs any help. Her thighs are so soft against his sides. His fingers slip under her sweater, tracing her smooth skin. He hikes her shirt and sweater up together, bit by bit, up her small body, and her hands slip down his. She puts her hands up his shirt all at once, and he groans as her delicate fingers splay across his chest, palms brushing over his nipples.

“You should take me,” she purrs. “The ceiling’s full of learlocks—it’s a good sign.”

Whatever she says. Whatever she wants. Dean reaches her breasts and squeezes them, one in each hand, making her moan and writhe. They barely fit, they’re so full, and he kneads them together, dropping to play with her nipples and tug at them. He wants to draw her. He did last week, but he wants to do it again, without all the clothes. When he puts her half-lidded, euphoric eyes into charcoal, every picture becomes a masterpiece. He can see clients in a museum wondering what’s trapped inside them, leaning closer to his paintings. 

Luna’s a mystery to everyone, even Dean, but he likes it that way. The best girls are those with depth and personality, and the best subjects are those whose depths are a little murky. It makes one want to look more closely. Dean could fall into her, and he unwraps her like a gift of beauty. 

He gently tugs her sweater over her head, mussing up her messy hair. He undoes all the buttons on her shirt, brushing it aside. He slithers her tie off her neck, and he rolls up her skirt, and he peels away her stockings, and she plays with his chest and makes approving, strange noises. She slips her small hand into the front of his trousers, and he grabs her wrist. 

He leans over, flattening together every centimeter of their skin that he can manage, every cell burning up. His stomach is fluttering in excitement, his head full of lavender clouds. But Dean’s a gentleman, and he asks, “Are you sure? If we cross this bridge, it’ll be on...”

Luna grins like a cat. Her other hand cups his face, and she leans their foreheads together. Pretty blue eyes closed, she sighs, “I think I might love you, but that’s a very confusing thing.”

Smirking, Dean lets go of her wrist. He kisses her cheek and says, “I love you too, Luna.”

Then he lets go, and everything begins.


End file.
